Ass Man
by hellorojo
Summary: So, what are you?" Faye asks Spike an unexpected question. SxF. Part 1 of my SxF series.


I don't own _Cowboy Bebop._ I'm nowhere near cool enough.  
I'm only cool enough to own this story. D= But that's cool, too.

Part 1 of my Spike x Faye series.

* * *

**"ASS MAN**"

"So."

He looks over at her, eyebrows raising, cigarette dangling limply from his lips and ember glowing brightly when he breathes in. "So," he says.

She shifts slightly in the recliner, long legs tucked underneath her, elbow perched gracefully on the armrest. She takes a drag of her cigarette and then exhales, and he watches the smoke lift into the space between them and linger before vanishing into the vents above.

"So, what are you?" she asks him.

He cocks his head to her, smoke lifting into his field of vision, clouding her in gray swirls that hang in the air. It's like he's looking at her through a filter, yellow spandex not quite as bright, violet hair not quite as vibrant under fluorescent lights overhead. He can't decide whether he likes having her visually toned down or if he prefers her typically loud appearance; either way, regarding her unabashedly is next to impossible.

"Whaddaya mean, what am I?" he says with the faintest trace of a bemused smirk on his thin lips.

She watches him exhale through his nose, allowing herself a smile. She continues to look at him in silence for a few beats, their interaction as lackadaisical and unhurried as always, before her lips part and her eyes flit down to her knees for just as long as it takes her to speak.

"I mean, are you a tit man, or an ass man?"

Her eyes are on him again, lifting just in time to catch the broad grin creeping across his face as it forms. He leans back on the couch, long legs stretched out haphazardly in front of him, arms folding behind his head. She notes that no matter what position he's in he always looks like a scarecrow: all awkwardly thin limbs and fluid movements, as if there's no bone beneath the thin muscle and skin.

"Seriously?" he asks, his voice laced with bemusement.

Faye nods affirmatively, the corner of her bright red lips twitching upwards. "Yeah."

Spike laughs a little, his eyes traveling upwards until he's looking at the labyrinth of pipes and wires that cover the ceiling, watching the path of the smoke from his cigarette as it wafts up. He thinks for a few moments and she watches him unabashedly, taking intermittent drags of her cigarette, feeling the heat from the glowing ember at the tips of her manicured fingers. She wonders if anyone's ever asked him this before and grins, knowing the answer is no and feeling a misplaced sense of accomplishment.

A full minute goes by, just the sound of burning tobacco and the singing noise that accompanies the ashes from the ember falling onto certain surfaces around them, and if she listens hard enough, she can hear the quiet sound of his breathing. She's surprisingly patient, he notices amidst his consideration; usually she can't wait five seconds for someone to give her an answer. Like a goddamned child, always antsy-pants about everything, and it's endearing and annoying to him simultaneously. Usually more annoying than endearing, but there are, of course, exceptions to the rule.

Finally his head tilts back down, his dark eyes finding hers again, and she's waiting for him, catching his gaze. Her smile grows slightly and though he's trying to keep a moderately serious expression he can't help his bemused expression.

"Ass," he finally says, confident and unashamed. "Tits are great, but I've always been an ass man."

Faye's eyebrows raise slightly and she pushes a few strands of chin-length purple hair behind her ear. Her fingertips brush past dangly earrings and the clink of metal against metal, though barely audible at first, seems to echo in the room in the seconds that follow. "Really," she says, and it's a statement rather than a question.

Spike grins lazily, scratching the back of his head and then nodding his head once. "Yup," he affirms. "One-hundred percent."

She looks somewhat surprised and she shrugs her shoulders, her body moving forwards, her lean legs swinging out from under her and her feet pressing into the floor. "Huh."

She gets up out of the chair, raising her arms above her head and giving an almost catlike stretch, her blue eyes closing tightly. He watches her figure, absently noting the way her ribs protrude from beneath her smooth skin when she reaches upwards.

"What?" he asks, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Faye shakes her head, letting her arms fall back to her sides. "Nothing," she says, her lips pouty as she shrugs again. "I always sort of figured you for a tit man, I guess."

"Well," he responds, intending to continue with some smart-ass comment, but at that moment she turns around so that her back is to him and, with all the nonchalance in the world, bends down.

His mouth remains slightly open, the grin fading from his face as she reaches to touch her toes, that perfectly round ass raised up in the air, the yellow latex shorts riding up, exposing a few more inches of milky-white skin. Spike tries to swallow but all he can taste is smoke and ash, and his tongue feels like it's too large for his mouth. She sways her hips to the left, to the right, and with her back arched she lifts back up again. It's a slow motion, all seductress extraordinaire, and even though he can't see the smirk on his face he's certain that she knows _exactly _what she's doing to him.

When she's upright again she cracks her back and ruffles the back of her head, her fingers sliding effortlessly through her delicate fingertips. "What?" she purrs. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

He almost growls at the way she's teasing him. "I'm full of surprises," he grumbles lowly, but it's a lot more lame out loud than it was in his head, and his voice is scratchy – it's obvious how she's effecting him.

She laughs softly to herself, glancing back at him for a moment before sauntering away. "I bet you are," she calls over her shoulder, and a minute later he hears a door open and close.


End file.
